I woke up late. Looked out the small window overhead. The lights of the chapel on the other side of the driveway shone in through the heavy snowfall but it was dark otherwise.
O! Barren land, hold me in winter, / stripped of all passions. / Let me,swollen with the vaults of summer/ recede, vast and unobliging.
All night / a ghost with six fingers / has been sweeping / these same polydactyl chords
Of each thought when—like an animal— / It leaps, the mind, from branch to branch. / Axons, corpus callosum, coliseums, did I
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